Nameless Immortal
by Bong Bong Bong
Summary: Eternal perfect silence.


**A/N:** Something I'd done quite a while back after a reflection on the question: who would Kyōko be if she were blind? To this day, it is one of my favourite of my works.

* * *

 **Nameless Immortal**

 _She lives in the church_  
 _nobody knows._  
 _Among summer shadows,_  
 _eternal perfect silence._

* * *

Morning came to Kyōko in secret whispers of the dawn's wind blowing in through the broken glass walls behind the grand podium and light streaming in from the multi-colour glass windows of her father's old, abandoned church.

She remembered what she liked about the church. In the daytime, the alabaster window picturing a dove in flight would shimmer, and capture the warmth of daylight – shining a sweet golden on whoever walked in. At night, the moon and starlight would cause the stained glass window, with the image of St. Francis of Assisi, to sparkle in greatest radiance.

The benches were traditional hard wooden ones, and there were many in number but they were all made of fine good wood lacquered for a glossy, durable finish.

Kyōko arose from her deep slumber, the best one she'd had in a while. Quite unusually, she hadn't woken up even once in the middle of the night from restive slumber. It was a good day.

Staggering up to her feet, she stretched her body around and loosened some of her joints. It wasn't very comfortable to sleep on the bench, but it was either that or the cold marble floor.

No one came to the church anymore. It was practically forgotten, after her family died in that ordinary tragedy, and the ensuing years upon years of disuse.

Her name and her age, too, she sometimes forgot, since people never came to the church, not even robbers, for it was hidden deep in the undergrowth like some secret treasure of the earth.

Then she lowered the sunglasses that were on her forehead to the bridge of her nose, and wore them well. Honestly, Kyōko wished she could see the church one more time.

'Where is it?'

Squatting down, she reached her hands out over the floor close to where she slept and hobbled around, searching for her walking stick.

'Ah!'

Clumsily, Kyōko grabbed the walking stick, her old friend – one who never let her down. Not yet, at least. She didn't know how she'd get by when that time comes. But she decided she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

Using the walking stick as a support, she stood up with some effort and staggered for a couple of steps. Her sense of balance was a little off, as it always was right after she awoke.

"What do I do now?"

Life in the church was a bit dull and lonely. But Kyōko didn't have the leisure to worry about that. When your belly's empty, and your mouth is parched, there's no point in worrying about life's little luxuries. All that mattered was that she was alive.

Still, Kyōko needed something to do. Or else, she'd just rot away where they were. Would it be that bad a thing? To just quietly die off, that is. Maybe it wouldn't be a sin to cut the record short.

Kyōko had been through a lot for her age, or anyone's age for that matter.

She used to be a rambunctious kid. She used to be doted on by her father, and cared for by her mother. And she had a sister too. Her name was Momo. Every day, Momo would go to her father's church early in the morning and pray in silence.

Kyōko could still remember asking her, "What'd you pray for?"

And Momo told her, "Don't really know."

She was a good little girl.

Kyōko always remembered these small little things.

Then, her poignant reveries stopped there. Having found a broom lying in some forgotten corner, she got busy – sweeping the church. It may have been a clumsy, futile effort – but it gave her something good to do.

Still, it was not long before she put the broom down and sat for a breather. On days like those, she'd wonder why she still lived. No one was going to get her. No one was going to help her. In a way, it was a heroic, if lonely, life; a life only the truly strong could live; a life so uniquely fresh behind the curtains of impenetrable darkness that only a lucky few get to live.

Any average Joe could see the light streaming through the windows. Any old body could see the light illuminating the figures of Christ and the statues of the saints. Only she couldn't. That was something she used to be proud of – her individuality.

But when you can't see, in the night and in daylight, and when you can't feel your toes on a chilly winter day, and you have no covers to hide under – your sense of individuality and ego just slips away into nothingness.

Being blind, ironically, made her see the world from a whole different angle. When she could see, all she thought about was things with form. All she saw colour, and lines, and shapes, and sizes. All she found interesting were things of the five senses.

She had become more still and quiet, and irreversibly so.

In all honesty, Kyōko didn't know why she was doing what she was doing. She didn't really see any reason to live; all was in vanity.

Suicidal thoughts came to her often at the beginning of the end, roughly 5 years ago. And in her mind she flirted with death and all things morbid. But she'd since wizened up. If there's no meaning to life, how can there be any meaning to death? At the very least, she was alive. She'd just have to learn to accept the vanity of it all.

It was a good thing she wasn't lonely. She had her friends.

Once, a dog dropped by the orchard. Thinking it was a dangerous stray, she would always lock the doors of the church whenever it came around. When she looked outside the window, she could hear it whimper. It didn't make for good company, but it was enough for her to know she wasn't alone.

Then one day, she mustered up the courage to let the dog in.

Was it a stray? Was it someone's pet? Was it hungry? Was it going to hurt her? Thinking that, she readied her cane for confrontation. But deep down, she wished it was a friend. She never had many friends. Maybe, so she wished, that dog would be her friend.

The dog crept in slowly. Then it collapsed just after passing through the entrance. She heard it fall with a great thud.

Kyōko rushed to its side under the bright afternoon sunlight. She could feel its ribs. It must have been hungry and weakened to the point of exhaustion.

Clearly, the dog didn't like Kyōko as it barked strainingly at her, while snapping its teeth. Surely, if it were good and healthy, it would have treated Kyōko as a good denizen of Gaia.

In the midst of all its barking, sweet barking she had not heard for a while, Kyōko trundled slowly to the podium where she placed some fruits she picked from the orchard outside. As she walked away, the dog's barking got softer and softer.

By the time she finally returned, the dog stopped barking. Its breath: shallower. It seemed to have given up on making Kyōko its meal, and resigned itself to its fate.

Kyōko put an apple before the dog. The dog reached a tentative paw out before pushing it closer, and it slowly bit off pieces of apple.

Kyōko smiled, as she gently combed its rough fur. It was looking for a friend too, no doubt.

That day was a hot summer day. The cicadas made a loud buzz from the trees. If Kyōko could catch them, she'd probably try to eat them if she were hungry enough. But it would just be a waste of energy for a blind girl like her.

From then on, the dog became her friend – a partner. It would come by on some days but not on others. Kyōko wondered where it went to on those days. Maybe it went back home.

After that small bit of reminiscing, Kyōko got up to resume her sweeping. It was a big church for a blind girl, and it would take her a total of three days to cover the whole premises.

Then she wondered if the dog was going to come today. It hadn't been coming for some time. It probably died somewhere. On the road? In the wild? God only knows.

And since she had the time to, Kyōko fantasized about where she wanted to die.

As she swept while thinking such morbid thoughts, she hummed to herself a little happy tune she heard long ago in her memories. In her memories?

Yes, in her memories. Wouldn't it be good if she could die in her memories? But in the meantime, she was satisfied watching the summers pass sequestered, for sure, but pure, and living as quiet as the autumn river, flowing.


End file.
